Switzerland x Reader: Thief
by SunshineBlondie
Summary: Switzerland x Reader. The fanciest house... the perfect robbery. But a Swiss obstacle stands in your way. And he has a gun.


You pressed your thin frame against the reddish bricks of the mansion. The wind seeped its way through the seams in your flimsy black turtleneck, causing you to shiver. It was an unusually cold October night. Your heart pounded faster then a hummingbird, and, for a split second, you wondered if it was time to back down and go to home to your shitty apartment, ignoring the rent that needed to be payed, forgetting about this whole endeavour. But you just shook your head, tiptoeing next to the house.

A branch crackled under your sneakers, making the loudest noise possible. You gritted your teeth, hoping the sound was mute to the human ear. Unfortunately, you heard a slow scuttle of footsteps from the high open window of the house. A tiny girl poked her head out, craning her neck. Her eyes were a hazy turquoise, half lidded from sleep. Your breath hitched in your throat. The girl yawned, disappearing. It was so quiet, you could hear her climbing into her bed, the springs creaking mechanically. You sighed in relief that she didn't see you, carefully avoiding any objects from your feet.

You found the front of the house, the big door almost mocking you with its gold features. You scoffed at it, turning the knob. It refused to budge. You pushed on it with more force, until it sent you flying into the house. _So much for being quiet,_ you thought, quickly getting up, dusting yourself off. You looked around the main hallway, glaring at every nicely carved room, every clean tile on the floor, every rosewood braided railing. It wasn't fair how much money these people had. You shook your head, walking towards the room straight down the hall, to the right. It was so dark, you could hardly see anything. You opened up the frilly curtains, letting moonlight decorate the place. You could make out a stove, a fridge, and some pantries. The kitchen.

Greedily, you swung open the pantry, finding all sorts of food. You threw as much as you could in your rucksack, wondering how long it could last you. You opened a drawer, awing at the silverware. You grabbed the utensils, trying to think how much someone would pay for all of them. You traced your finger alongside the handle of a spoon, palming the smooth leafy design. Suddenly, the lights flicked on behind you. You dropped the spoon. You felt something hard against your head, hearing a loud _ca-chunk._

"Put your hands up or I'll shoot," a voice said shakily. "I mean it."

You shut your eyes tightly, turning slowly. The gun jabbed harder at you, coinciding with your forehead as you came face to face with the psycho.

He had messy golden hair, a forest-green coat, and eyes exactly like the emeralds studded on his door. His orbs were furious, shooting you an angry stare.

"I said put your hands up and drop what you're holding!" he demanded, more forcefully. "Now, or I'll blow out your brains."

As frightened as you were, you just blinked. "You don't have the balls," you replied simply, digging in through his silverware again. He reloaded the shotgun again, as if trying to prove a point.

"I'm serious. I'll kill you right now," he snapped, slamming it into your forehead again. You just rolled your eyes. He looked to be your age. You let your (h/c) ponytail out, wisps surrounding your face, continuing with your work. The knives clattered against each other when you dropped them in your bag.

"Go right ahead then," you hummed, opening up more pantries. You wanted to know where his safe was.

"DROP EVERYTHING NOW!" he shouted, following you with his weapon. You wondered why you weren't scared. He was almost 6 foot, bearing a large gun, and you weren't even the least bit terrified. Maybe it was because you didn't care what became of you anymore. Maybe he didn't intimidate you as much as you thought.

"Go on," you said, not even looking into his eyes. They were such a bright green. Like a comfy bed of grass you could lie in. They were attractive. You didn't want to let him know that. "Shoot me. I'd like to see you try."

"I will!" he argued back. "I can kill you right on the spot." He squinted his eyes at you, fingers dangerously close to the trigger. You didn't care.

"So do it."

"Fine!"

"Big bruder, what are you doing? Stop!" A little girl ran into the room, tears bubbling at the corner of her turquoise eyes. Her caramel hair was kept short and neat, with a pretty purple ribbon attached on the side. It was the same girl that woke up from the noise previously.

He scowled at her. "Get out of here Lili. Go back to bed. I'll take care of her."

The girl looked so sad. "But Vash-"

"GET OUT!" She took a step back from the projection of his voice, jogging up the stairs. Her soft footsteps sounded like a mouse trotting along its way. The stairs moaned under her light weight.

"Well you handled that well," you said, opening his fridge. Cheeses and chocolates from Switzerland lavished it wonderfully. So he was a Swiss, huh? That explained his fancy watch. "Your poor daughter."

Vash ran to you, barreling the gun again. You were unimpressed. "That's my sister," he retorted.

You frowned, meeting his sharp gaze. "But she doesn't look anything like you." You collected some of his cultural delights, placing them in your backpack.

"No, I found her when she was just a little country on the streets. She was cold and sick so I... wait a minute you're changing the subject!"

You clapped your hands quickly. "Very good Vash!" You patted his head like a child, going back to your robbery with your free hand.

He glared. "That's Switzerland to you. Now drop everything and give it back."

You looked at your cracked nails. "I'm still waiting for you to shoot me."

"I will!" he answered, moving his finger against the trigger closely.

"Then do it."

"Okay!"

"I'm waiting."

"I'll send a bullet straight into your head. I mean it."

"But you won't Vash. You won't kill me." You moved closer to him, dropping the stolen items. They fell to the floor with a semi-loud _thud._ You stood on your tippy-toes, faces so close, your noses touched. His cheeks turned as red as his flag. You took a lock of his hair, rolling it around your index finger, "You don't have the heart to kill someone like me." You pressed your lips against his, hard, wrapping your arms around his neck. You wondered how long the kiss was. You wondered why it felt so nice. Slowly, he kissed you back, dropping the gun, hands curling along your waist. His lips were kind and soft, for such an angry man. When you finished, you saw your lipstick residue on him, and grinned. He looked like a complete tomato. You winked at him, grabbing your bag, darting into the night.


End file.
